I could see that he was
getting weaker every day for the past few months, finally weighing in at a mere
5.7 pounds on the day of his death – less than a new-born infant.

And I remember noticing that
he sometimes stumbled and fell when jumping into bed, something he never had
trouble with in the past.

And I
noticed how he had an almost permanent low grade cold these past few months,
his nose constantly stuffed. He'd look better for a few days and as soon as we
felt comfortable about his health, he would start sniffling again.

And I
noticed how for the past few months he became quieter and more withdrawn,
choosing to sit by himself under the dining table - instead of his normal
routine of snuggling up with anyone and everyone.Through it all, through all
the months of sickness, he never complained – not even once. Even the nurses at
the vet - two hours before his death - were amazed by how loving he was,
calling him a "purr machine".

His decline was, thankfully, swift in the
end. Yesterday morning he started wobbling and dragging his hind legs, had to
be carried downstairs, and struggled to stand. He was dizzy, swaying and
tumbling backwards, bumping into chairs and doors, barely able to take a single
step.Within an hour we were at
the vet. Two hours later, back at home, he died quickly and quietly in my arms
as one organ shut down after another. It all happened so quickly that I'm still
in disbelief. This ball of love, this bundle of joy is gone and he has left a
huge hole not just in my heart but in everyone else’s as well who came into
contact with him.I was convinced he was an
angel. No earthly creature could be this loving. I even seriously looked into
cloning him - ethical issues be damned. This gene cannot be allowed to die: it's
pure love poured into a compact five pound package. I also jokingly
claimed I was going to put him up for beatification: Saint Pookie, the patron saint of love.

He was a show cat for the first year of his life, a grand champion, before we got him from his breeder.

Due to some congenital disease
(thanks to in-breeding), his jaws didn't open wide enough for him take a good
bite. This meant he basically buried his face in the food to get a reasonable
sized bite and, as a result, his face was always dirty.

We used to clean him
obsessively at first:

But then we realized he didn't care and we
loved him even more with his dirty face:

I held it together at the vet
and even later – after his death - finding a place to cremate him and driving
there. My wife accompanied me at every step. We cried a couple of times but I
was mostly in shock and going through the motions. It was only when I got back
home that I curled into a ball and cried my eyes out for several hours non-stop.

Not long enough.

Holy fuck. How do people who
lose children go through with it? Holy fuck.

I guess I just assumed we
would get a few more months with him.

My daughter called. I talked
for half an hour like a normal person, hung up, and went back to the fetal
position. Several of my friends called and texted. I didn’t respond or
told them to go away. I needed to be alone.

In the end he went quickly.
His eyes dilated, his breathing got shallower – so shallow that I thought he
was gone. I touched him, he gave two long sighs and then he was gone. He must have been in pain, but he never complained.

Last night, I woke up several
times with a start, tears forming in my eyes within seconds each time as the realization
came back to me. Pookie is gone. My Pookie is gone. My wife reported a similar
experience.

Memories keep flooding back
to me aided by old photos and videos: of him "hiding" in a box:

Or "stalking" me from under a chair:

Snuggling with us under the blankets - just like a toddler would:

Massaging or grooming one of the other pets in the house (a daily occurrence):

Here is our other cat, Mishka, getting frustrated with Pookie’s
perennially dirty face and doing the licking for him:

The memories are sweet and
tender. The tears are because I suddenly realize a few seconds into the recollection
that Pookie is gone. A huge part of our lives has been extinguished. Sweet Saint
Pookie is gone.Should my wife and I be
accused of animal cruelty, I wondered. Here's a clearly sick old cat. Why
didn't you take him to the vet sooner? Perhaps they could have saved him.We made an appointment about a month ago
to take him in for a check-up. Then Pookie spent the entire morning before the appointment
purring on my belly, so clearly happy and content that we cancelled the
appointment.

This cat was happy. This cat
was loved and this cat loved everyone he came in contact with. Call me a
sentimental fool for writing an obituary for a cat, but this was no mere cat.
He was an angel.

May you rest in peace,
Pookie. You gave us so much love and you will be missed dearly.